


be there

by euriele



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Claustrophobia, M/M, Nightmares, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 19:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1562102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euriele/pseuds/euriele
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knew what Locus had done to Wash whilst he’d been imprisoned. He’d seen the injuries when Wash had gotten back and knew exactly what kind of treatment Wash had gotten whilst Locus had had him. So the nightmares were understandable.</p>
<p>He didn’t know about the claustrophobia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	be there

After a while, Tucker got so used to Washington’s nightmares that he was no longer freaked out when Wash screamed himself awake in the bunk across from his. He got so used to them that he no longer used his own bunk and automatically crawled into Wash’s, already wrapping his arms around the Freelancer and burying his face into Wash’s back. So when Wash started twitching and whimpering, Tucker was already there to help him.

And it wasn’t just nightmares Wash had to deal with. The first night in the hospital, he’d all but screamed for them to leave a light on in the room. As well as constant nightmares and a compulsion to keep looking over his shoulder every few minutes, Wash had a new fear of the dark. When they moved him into Tucker’s room, Tucker had gotten a small night light for Wash (someone had made some offhand comment about the night light a few days later, and ended up in the medical bay with a broken jaw, courtesy of Lavernius Tucker).

He knew what Locus had done to Wash whilst he’d been imprisoned. He’d seen the injuries when Wash had gotten back and knew exactly what kind of treatment Wash had gotten whilst Locus had had him. So the nightmares were understandable.

He didn’t know about the claustrophobia.

So when Caboose wanted something from the ship, he dragged Wash along with him. Since the war, he didn’t like it when Wash was out of sight for more than five minutes. Maybe he was being possessive, but after the amount shit they’d been through and how Tucker had almost lost Wash several times, he didn’t like being away from him. And all they were doing was getting some book that Caboose wanted from the top shelf of one of the cupboards.

“What do you want this book for?” Tucker asked as he stood on his toes and tried to reach the shelf.

“Kimball wants it,” Caboose said, playing with something by the door.

“So you asked us to get it?”

“I can’t reach it.”

“Well neither can I.”

Tucker’s fingers barely brushed the shelf beneath the top one. Growling beneath his breath, he balanced himself on the bottom shelf, not liking the way in which the shelf groaned beneath him. _Don’t break,_ he begged internally. _For the love of fucking God, don’t break._ His fingers brushed the top shelf and he stretched himself up at bit more, a smirk on his face when his fingers brushed the side of what felt like a book. _Got you, you little –_

“ _SHIT_!” he shouted as the shelf gave way beneath him, sending him crashing backwards into the door of the cupboard. He hit his head on the doorframe and rolled out into the corridor, right into Wash’s shins. Both Wash and Caboose were bent double from laughter, Washington wheezing and holding his still repairing ribs.

“Smooth,” Wash gasped out between breaths.

“Motherfucker,” Tucker growled, rubbing at the top of his head as he stumbled to his feet.

“Here,” Wash smirked, crouching down before the shelves and cupping his hands before him. “Giving you a boost seems like a better idea than a concussion.”

“Smart.” Tucker planted his boot in Wash’s hands and Washington pushed him up. And Tucker finally managed to get hold of the damn book. And then the cupboard door slammed shut behind them, plunging them into darkness.

“Caboose,” Tucker growled as he jumped down and started to pound on the door. “Caboose, open the fucking door.”

“Ugh, I can’t,” Caboose said, his voice muffled by the door. “It’s stuck.”

“Caboose, you piece of shit, open the fucking door!” Tucker shouted, pounding on the metal.

“Ugh, ah, um… Oh, I’ll get Simmons!”

“Caboose?” Tucker could hear Caboose’s heavy footsteps, indicating that the youngest member of the team was leaving, slowly fading. “Caboose, you shithead! Get back here and open the fucking door!”

There was silence from the other side and Tucker swore, punching at the door once more. And that was when he noticed how quiet Wash was being. Wash would’ve said something by now. Hell, Wash would’ve probably punched the door down. Instead, Tucker could make out the Freelancer’s form in the darkness, backing up against the wall. And his breathing was quickening.

“Wash, dude, you alright?”

Wash was breathing far too quickly now. He grabbed Tucker’s shirt with one hand, the other going to his chest. He was wheezing and choking, and Tucker could just see his wide eyes and the sweat pouring down his face.

When Wash woke up from his nightmares, he’d often be short of breath. He’d often lie there wheezing for a few moments until he realised that it was only a dream and that he was safe. But being in the cupboard was real. There was no waking up from this. And for the first time, Tucker had no idea how to help Wash.

_Think!_ he shouted internally, trying to remember what he used to do back when Wash’s nightmares first started. And then he finally realised what he needed to do.

Gripping Wash’s hand, he manoeuvred the older man so that he was sat on the floor. It was difficult, considering how small the room was. But he got Wash to sit with his back against the wall and Tucker knelt down before him, now with his hands on either side of Wash’s face, making him look Tucker in the eyes.

“Just breathe, Wash,” Tucker said as Wash gripped Tucker’s wrists with his own shaking hands, his breathing getting shallower and quicker by the second. “Come on, breathe with me. In 2-3-4-5, out 2-3-4-5.”

At first, Wash could barely draw a breath without choking. Eventually, he managed to take in a single, shuddering breath in time with Tucker, and breathed out again. And he slowly managed to calm Wash down, just urging him to keep breathing whilst he ran his thumb along Wash’s cheek. Wash’s hands slowly stopped trembling.

“You’re alright,” Tucker murmured, pressing his forehead against the top of Wash’s head. “You’re safe. It’s just me and you.”

He watched as Wash’s dilated pupils returned to their normal size. He watched as the Freelancer’s rigid muscles finally relaxed, his shoulders finally sagging. Tucker kept on whispering to him, just whispering that they were safe, carrying on even when Wash was lulled into the sleepy aftermath of a panic attack. He slumped forwards, pressing his face into the crook of Tucker’s neck, sighing contentedly.

Tucker had no idea how long they sat together like that, Wash breathing against Tucker’s neck whilst Tucker continued to rub circles into Wash’s cheeks, his fingers threaded through Wash’s hair. He just sat and waited for the eventual sounds of footsteps and voices outside the door. There were fists hammering on the door seconds later, and then there was Simmons calling to them.

“Tucker! You guys alright?”

“Just open the door,” Tucker called back tiredly.

The door flew open seconds later, light filling the small space. The Reds, Kimball, Felix and Caboose stood in the doorway, gaping down at the pair. There was silence for several moments as the group just stared at the unconscious Wash and Tucker kneeling before him. And then Grif had the balls to break the silence and say, “Did we interrupt some intimate moment?”

The orange soldier cowered beneath Tucker’s glare. Tucker looked to Kimball and said, “He had a panic attack.”

Kimball’s eyes went wide. “He needs to go to medical, now.”

Tucker nodded and moved to stand up, but Wash’s eyes flew open in an instant and his hands grabbed Tucker’s. He didn’t say a word, but the look in his eyes told Tucker exactly what he was thinking: _Please don’t go._ And Tucker didn’t need to say anything back. He just helped Wash to his feet and helped him walk out of the ship and down to medical. And they just sat together in silence all day.

 

*

 

It was well into the night before they spoke. They lay together in Wash’s bunk, Tucker’s arm thrown around Wash’s chest and his face was pressed against Wash’s bare back. He knew that Wash was awake, and he knew that, sooner or later, they were going to have to talk about what happened.

Why not now?

“So just how badly did Locus fuck you up?” Tucker said, not realising just how harsh his words were until Wash winced. Immediately, he started slapping himself mentally. _Idiot, idiot, fucking idiot. Dude gets tortured and you ask him how badly he got ‘fucked up’? Nice._

Wash was gripping Tucker’s hand in his own, rubbing his thumb across the scar on the back of Tucker’s hand. “Locus had a way when it came to torture. One of his favourite things to do was to create new fears. He knew I had no problem whatsoever when it came to small spaces, so he started locking me in cupboards for days on end.”

Tucker froze, but Wash carried on talking. “He just take me out of the cell, throw me in there and leave me there. I got food and water through a cat flap in the door once a day. And then Locus started playing little games when he realised it wasn’t working. He opened the door one night, and chased me around the dark corridors. Everywhere I turned, there’d either be him or the dead body of some rebel soldier. And sometimes, the roof of the cell would open up and he’d drop things down on me. Spiders, snakes, whatever he knew I was afraid of. He even took to torturing and questioning me in the cell.”

Wash was shaking again, his grip on Tucker’s hand tightening. Tucker’s face was screwed up, pressed against Wash’s freckled back. Oh, how he wanted to jump up and go on a hunt for Locus, who’d vanished at the end of the war. He wanted to rip the mercenary limb from limb for what he’d done to Wash.

Instead, he said, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Wash asked, glancing over his shoulder at Tucker.

“Everything,” Tucker murmured. “Not getting to you soon enough. Not saving you during the first rescue mission. For not coming back for you the day you got captured. For taking you to that stupid cupboard today. I’m sorry.”

“Moron,” Wash muttered as he turned over so that he was facing Tucker. “I don’t blame you.”

“But –“

“I don’t blame you,” Wash growled. “None of this was your fault. If anything, it was my fault that I got incapacitated –“

“Don’t you dare,” Tucker said, glaring daggers into Wash. “Don’t you even dare blame yourself.”

“Then you stop blaming yourself.”

“It’s hard not to,” Tucker said, rolling onto his back and sitting up, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. “I mean, that day in the canyon, I could’ve done something. Instead of standing there like a fucking idiot, I could’ve run over and dragged you back with us. There were dozens of times when we could’ve attacked the Federal bases, but we held back to reduce losses. I wasn’t there to help when you were with Locus. I blame myself because I wasn’t there to help you.”

Wash sat up behind him, wrapping his arms around Tucker from behind. “Listen, there was nothing you could’ve done. And you weren’t there before. But, I’m asking you to be here now.”

Tucker smiled. “Finally, a promise I can stick by.”

**Author's Note:**

> i did my best to describe a panic attack and i hope i did okay
> 
> anyway, this is based off of this tumblr post:   
> http://tvckingtons.tumblr.com/post/69798759860/imagine-caboose-needing-something-from-the-ship-but
> 
> please don't hate me


End file.
